Torn Fibers
by Emorial
Summary: They were tightly woven fibers of a cloth, making it difficult to pull and separate both into two individual pieces without at least one of them breaking. Though, there was nothing he could do to get around this. Angst. Pre-Abyss. One-shot. Oz/Gil.


So, I'm not exactly a fan of this pairing, more like I honestly hate it with a passion, but somebody had a request somewhere for it.  
Deciding that maybe I could get out of a writing funk, I wrote it. So, here's an angst fic just for you all. :)

* * *

It had been bad enough that Oz's father hated him as it was.

This situation didn't make it the least be easier on the boy, nor did it help out his servant of a year younger, Gilbert. Maybe they should've been more careful, but the only way to do that was to have ever let it get that far to begin with. Somehow, that seemed all too impossible for the two when the right moment hit and they started getting closer than they had planned when they first met face to face, Oscar introducing them as servant and master.

Having put them together, it was hard to imagine that Oscar would have to be the one to tear the two apart after watching them share hands laced together, and lips meeting in a more than brotherly manner. The man knew it would be hard to do, too. The two had grown to become close, just like Oscar had hoped. Oz needed a friend and Gilbert needed someone in his life to help him deal with his missing memories. They were tightly woven fibers of a cloth, making it difficult to pull and separate both into two individual pieces without at least one of them breaking. Though, there was nothing he could do to get around this.

Oscar knew it had to be done, for the image of the household and his young nephew depended on it.

"U-Uncle. Please don't…" Oz couldn't help but stare up in mortification at the man who was doing this.

"Oz, you know it can't be helped," he muttered, lowering his voice to have a serious vibe stained in it. "We can't let this house's image be tainted. Gilbert must go, and you two can't see each other again."

"But Uncle Osca-" Oz was cut off, a serious stare leaving the elder Vessalius' eyes.

"What's done is done, Oz. Nothing can be changed," he finished, turning to leave the room. "He's being taken away as we speak, as to avoid you two sneaking off like you usually do."

That was the last shove off of the edge Oz needed before he propelled forward, his legs moving as if they had a will of their own to stop the men taking away his precious servant, his precious friend; his precious love. He'd be alone, and Gilbert would be, too. How could he let either of them endure that? Had he done something wrong to deserve this? The thoughts of Gilbert's tortured face over the time he knew him flashed across his mind.

No. They had been friends, and Gilbert had been fine with it… he thought, at least. But whatever it was, this couldn't be destiny. Gilbert was the first person to teach him of forever, and Gilbert was the only one he wanted to share that with. What better way to spend it with the soul who helped you through your darkest hours that came day and night?

"Gil!"

Turning the corner, he came to a stop as he saw two men with hands on the young , teenaged boy's arms. Tears streamed his face as he struggled to get free, his eyes drifting to the voice that had called his name. It was almost like a flood had began, as his eyes watered more, the thought of leaving his precious master crippling his mind and heart, deep on the inside.

"Y-Young master! Please don't let them take me!" His voice was so broken up, it was as if each strain was a rip in Oz's own heart, pain coursing through him each time he felt his heart beat.

Rushing over, he slid his arms around the young boys waist, pressing himself closer as he stepped on the man's foot who held Gilbert's right arm, causing him to writhe in pain long enough for Gilbert to yank free. Wrapping his arm around the Vessalius boy's neck, his face buried it's tears into his hair as he struggled against the other man. The two had become magnets, always attracted, never wanting to separate, yet forced by the hands of man for reasons unexplained or even considered useless.

Feeling the arms of a man grasp at Oz, the boy twisted and squirmed, trying to slide out of it, but the tight grip was too much. Glancing back with a glare, his eyes widened with betrayal. Was Oscar really so set on ruining them that he would literally /rip/ the two apart, causing devastating damage that couldn't be healed by even a mother's love? A small part of the situation disgusted Oz. Hadn't Oscar always been there for him? Hadn't he encouraged the friendship?

Or was that all in Oz's mind?

"Uncle, let me go!" Oz's cry echoed through the courtyard, birds flittering away at the shattering peace falling around them.

"I'm sorry, Oz," he spoke, tugging more as the two teenagers held on tight, determined to not let go. There was only so much Gilbert's arm could take, and it was as if he could feel a tear in time and space as his arm began to slip from the young master's neck, his eyes widening as tears flowed down his cheeks, staining them red with sadness and sorrow; but no regret.

Oz's hand flew to the other's, grasping it and lacing their fingers as one. "Hold on, Gil, I won't let them take you away!" Griping tighter, he could feel the strain on his arm as Oscar tried to pull, this time a bit more gently as the other two men pulled the opposite way. That was all it took for their fingers so break, crumble, and fall apart, just as their lives would do once they were far away from each other.

"Young master!"

Those words burned into the blonde male's ears, emerald oculars wide with fear and heartache as he watched the men carry off the golden eyed boy who he wanted to be with forever. His cries faded as he fell partially limp in Oscar's arms, his brain not processing what had just happened. All that he had, all that he ever would have, had just been torn from his own hand. Was he that useless to not be able to stop something so horrible that words couldn't describe?

Tilting his head forward, he let his bangs cast shadows over his eyes, covering the tears that were beginning to form. Rage, hurt, sadness. Many things could come from them, but the sense of loss and being lost had to be the strongest among them that he felt.

Maybe he was a fool for believing forever existed if this is all that became of it.


End file.
